


Go Time

by artanis_aman



Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe, Clint still does archery, Fluff, Fun sex at the end, Hopeless Romantics, M/M, Mean Rumlow, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple orgasams, Oneshot, Overstimulation, Phil still has shit under control, SHIELD is an event planning firm, feel free to write in this verse!, straight forward love story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-18 22:56:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7334017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artanis_aman/pseuds/artanis_aman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SHIELD is an event planning firm and Phil Coulson is its Operations Manager. Clint is an outside contractor who has a raging crush on his sometimes-boss.  Fury has a bedazzled eye patch and Natasha dances ballet.  Mostly, Phil and Clint just get together in a not-so-tortured way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go Time

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Earlier this month I was part of running a medium sized event and kept thinking at multiple points through the night--'I wish Phil Coulson and Clint Barton were here!". SO this little diddy was born and would not leave my brain until it was written. For those that read Wide Breadth--the update is coming! This story horned its way to the front of the line -_- but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

Clint avoided Natasha's knowing gaze as he unpacked his kit. There was no reason he needed her amused pair of eyes making him nervous when Phil actually came into view. Clint had been scanning the room for the Event Operations Manager, usually finding him within seconds of entering a venue. Tonight, Clint hadn't seen him since he and Nat got to the place.

 

The event set-up was well-underway and precisely on schedule. If Phil Coulson was involved, Clint came to expect nothing less. The man seemed to have a bend on the space-time continuum so that even the biggest logistical issues were magically resolved before “go-time”. Of course, Clint knew that Coulson had contingency plans, and contingency plans for his contingency plans. Clint and Nat had been outside contractors for Coulson and _SHIELD_ for several years. Clint knew there were contingency plans for fires, ceiling collapses, and even hostage situations.

 

Just as Clint's station was completed, he heard the booming voice of SHIELD's lead designer, Fury (One name. Like Cher, because he was that big in the event planning world), which meant Coulson couldn't be far behind.

 

The two men stepped onto the stage from behind the back white wall.

 

"Coulson, cheese, please, the stage needs to have flair. This is a fundraiser for art programming in America! For fuck's sake." Fury turned one pleading eye on Coulson--Clint had to admit the effect was dimmed by his signature black bedazzled eye patch.

 

Coulson sighed. "The lightening crew might have some tricks up their sleeve."

 

Fury scrunched his nose.

 

"Or," Coulson continued "I brought cables that could hang art work down from the rafters."

 

Fury clasped his hands. "Yes, yes!" He turned one wicked eye on Coulson. "You told me that idea was a logistical nightmare!"

 

"It is."

 

"You're the best. Hang them at different levels. Like the first mock up I showed you and you mercilessly shot down. I want a couple of the student one's in the middle-ish area." Fury quickly strode off, calling out orders to the innocent men and women arranging the center pieces on the tables in front of them.

 

Coulson looked like he wanted to face palm, but straightened and pulled out his cell phone. He called in the cables and the extra crew. As he was explaining the measurements, he scanned the room and found Clint. Clint mustered a, 'hey there boss that I sometimes grab a drink with after events that we both work together, and who I DO NOT have a raging crush on.' Judging my Natasha's scoff somewhere to his left, he failed a little at that last bit.

 

Shortly after artwork started appearing at various levels around the stage, Coulson strode over to Clint's station.

 

"How are you two doing here?" Coulson glanced over at Nat practicing a pirouette in her black leotard and tutu.

 

"She's the bad one in Swan Lake." Clint supplied and they both shared a smile. "We're good here I think, but I have to ask boss, how many grown adults want to get elaborate, movie quality, face paint?"

 

Coulson sighed, "Fury insisted. I would have taken your archery showcase any day but apparently that's sport's programming in America, not arts programming in America."

 

Clint chuckled, "Hey, I don't mind, it's a nice change. How's everything with," Clint gestured to the general area of the enter event space.

 

Phil's lips twitched. "Aside from Fury being on-site, everything is going well."

 

"I feel like there is a pun that I can make about sites and sight but I'll just not."

 

Phil's eyes did that warm twinkly thing that made Clint's knees all wobbly. "Wise choice."

 

Phil took a breath to say more but his phone binged and Clint waved him away. Clint made fake work of organizing his supplies and suppressed that goofy smile that always threatened to appear when he and Phil bantered.

 

Nat snuck up and sat down on his guest stool, "I want to look like a cross between a fairy and a demon swan goddess, just around the eyes, like a mask." She upturned her chin, expectant. Clint shook his head but picked up his base powder nonetheless. "Also," she added, lips curving up, "stop trying to flirt with your boss."

 

"He's not really my _boss_ , boss—just sometimes-boss." Clint pouted. He and Nat had their own business. Small, yes, but they made their own decisions about contracts and planned small-scale, mom and pop events.

 

Nat's laugh flitted across Clint's face as he started applying her make-up. “Okay, little bird. Stop trying to flirt with your sometimes-boss. Either get on with it or stop. Your sexual tension is distracting.”

 

Clint seriously considered reaching for the gangrene colored paint and making Natasha look hideous. Though, there was a high chance that would be impossible. Instead he made an exasperated sigh. They’d had this conversation before.

 

“You know he’s seeing that guy.” Clint mumbled.

 

“Rumlow?” Nat rolled her eyes. “That isn’t serious and you know it. It’s been, what? 4 months? And has Coulson actually confirmed it?”

 

Clint gripped his brush a littler harder, jealously and irritation coursing through him. Rumlow was an attractive man, well-bred, and annoyingly good at his job. Clint had been surprised when he heard that Phil had gotten involved with someone on his staff, but Rumlow was a rising star in the event operations world. As SHIELD’s top performing operations specialist, Clint could maybe see how he and Phil made sense.

 

On the other hand, the Phil he had come to know and… like, would see through the guy’s bullshit and disingenuous charms. The thought of them together always put a kink in Clint’s glow.

 

Clint quickly finished up Nat’s make-up as they continued to rash on Rumlow and all the ways he was an absolute turd. Shortly there after, Phil came around pleasantly but efficiently giving people a final half-hour time check. Clint didn’t think he was imagining Phil’s quirked lips and warm eyes as he passed. It sent Clint into his little daydream land where he worked up enough courage to ask Phil out.

 

Soon enough, guests started filtering in and Clint fell happily into his much needed skin of hopeless entertainer. He could turn it on, he knew he could. Even Natasha thought he was funny and charming with a spotlight on him. Any other time, she told him he was a huge dork.

 

Surprisingly, a large portion of the guest list stopped at Clint’s station. While he didn’t do elaborate make-ups on them, like he did for Nat, he was still impressed looking around the room with the numbers he was able to cover. Almost every guest sported some of his, dare he say elegant?, designs.

 

By the time the program got underway and everyone found their seats, Clint was stretching his fingers out wide and closing them into fists to avoid cramping. He, along with the other stations and side-shows, packed up discreetly and moved to the background areas behind the guests’ eyes.

 

Him and Nat made quick work of packing up the van. Nat was part of the intermission performance, so Clint changed into his one respectable tux to blend in to the crowd and waited for her. On his way back to the main floor, Clint had to dodge a few acts clamoring their way to the backstage door for their cue. His side stepping brought him to a secluded corner. He was about to step away, when he heard Rumlow’s raspy, icky voice, turned even more grating because it was formed into a harsh whisper.

 

“You’re a fucking piece of work, you know that?” Clint cringed at the amount of venom in the man’s tone.

  
To his surprise, he recognized the voice that followed. “Interesting choice of words, coming from you.”

 

Clint’s spine straightened. Phil sounded so cavalier and…cold.

 

“What the fuck is that suppose to mean?”

 

“I mean, I’m not the one trading insider information to HYDRA.”

 

A long silence followed and Clint strained his ears.

 

“How long have you known?” Rumlow’s voice lost some of its bite, transforming into something more irritated.

 

“I’ve always known Rumlow.”

 

The younger specialist scoffed. “Liar. Why let me have full access to the Stark account?”

 

“I’ve never let you have access to anything of real importance. You were made from the moment you stepped foot into SHIELD and we’ve been feeding you decoy information this entire time. You made your own grave, and I intend to ensure that your reputation in this business suffers accordingly.”

 

“My reputation?” Rumlow’s voice rose. “You’re the one who’s been fucking a junior operations specialist, giving me access to professional accounts, playing favorites—that’s the story I’ll tell everyone Coulson and that won’t look pretty on you.”

 

“You’re overestimating yourself. Most people will find that story preposterous. The truth is much more likely--you manufactured that story as a failsafe.” Clint heard Phil sigh, the way he did when a vendor was being particularly bothersome. “I need to get back on the floor. Go quietly Rumlow, slink back to HYDRA and I wont actively blacklist you.”

 

Clint heard Phil’s footsteps moving in his direction—he tucked himself into the nearby scaffolding.

 

Coulson pulled out his phone, tone clipped. “Its done. Make sure someone has eyes on him and escorts him out. He’s too smart to make a scene where people can see him, but he’s not above sabotage.”

Phil tucked his phone away and straightened up. He smoothed down his tie and adjusted his cuffs. Ever so cooly, he briskly walked toward the main floor.

 

Clint took a few moments, one hand over his chest, to process the conversation that he actively eavesdropped on. Sadly, the most salient piece of information that his brain wanted to circle around was the fact that Phil _wasn’t_ dating dueschbag Rumlow. Maybe that meant…

 

Clint took longer than Phil to pull it together. By the time he did, Nat was already in queue to start her performance.

 

Clint took up residence at the end of the open bar, resting both forearms on the edge. He nodded to Sam, a regular vendor that Phil used and the blessed man poured Clint a glass of some top shelf whiskey. Clint smiled his thanks.

 

As he looked back over the venue, a little hopeful he would see Phil, his eye caught on the art work around the stage. More specifically, on the cables secured to the rafters. Clint stood up sharply, his mind already reeling.

 

The cables weren’t going to hold.

 

He could see it in the nearly imperceptible movement of each chord—they couldn’t hold the weight of the large, elaborate frames.

 

Nat picked up on his body language from the stage, perceptive minx. Clint eyed the rafters and Nat, only needing a disguised glance, nodded her understanding. Clint dialed Phil as he cut to the service door.

 

“Clint?” Phil didn’t try and hide his concern.

 

“Phil, the cables aren’t gonna hold. There’s too much weight, you’ve got to get your crew to raise them.”

 

There was a short pause, Clint assumed Phil was assessing the large frames himself.

 

“Fuck, you’re right.” Clint heard Phil go over the coms to his team, “moving to contingency plan E.”

 

Clint racked his brain. Contingency plan E— _raise the artwork, make a distraction_.

 

“Where do you need me Phil?” Clint halted by the ladder that would take him to the rafters. He could hear the rumble of the crew coming in his direction.

 

“Any chance you have paint arrows on you?”

 

“Always.”

 

“Grab them and meet me on the scaffolding.” Phil clicked off and Clint sprinted to their truck to grab his equipment.

 

Clint made it to the top of the scaffolding in under 4 minutes. Phil had his business face on, all tight lines and hard focus.

 

“At the end of Natasha’s performance, I want to raise the art work, make it part of the show. Do you think she would keep dancing, if the music changed before she was off the stage?”

 

“She knows something’s up, she’ll go with it.”

 

“Good. While she’s dancing, I’d like you to shoot paint arrows at the back of the stage wall. Aim for the paintings, and we’ll lift them so that it looks like raising them is part of the show.”

 

“I can do that.” Clint was already opening his bow case and locking an arrow.

 

“Avoid the very center, I’m having the lightening crew project an image there.”

 

“Just tell me when.” Clint could see that Nat had maybe 20 seconds left of her set.

 

“On my count,” Phil’s voice went out on the coms. He waited for her to finish, striking her final dramatic pose. As the audience was clapping fervently, Phil cued the music.

 

The band started with an ominous drum beat and Natasha changed her style to something sharp, powerful—a stark difference to her the pervious grace of her number.

 

“Pull the snowy landscape first.” Phil instructed.

 

Clint took aim and at Phil’s signal fired avoiding the rising painting and splattering paint along the back wall of the stage. The audience gasped and whispered, many craning their necks to try and spot the origin of the arrow in the rafters.

 

Phil continued to cue the paintings. Natasha, a quick study, confined her dance to the center to make it easier for Clint to avoid her.

 

As the music picked up, Nat worked herself into a set after set of pirouettes, fervently matching the intensity of the music and showcasing her Russian Ballet training. She stayed on her leg until the last of the paintings were lifted. The crowd went wild for her display of skill, hooting and whistling.

 

Phil cued the musicians. They heightened the last count of 8, marking the upcoming finale so that Natasha could plan her ending. Nat twirled and jumped around the perimeter of the stage and spun down into an impressive split just as the music ended on its grand note.

 

Phil directed the lightening crew who projected a graphic image from one of the student speakers. Daisey, an inspiring highschooler, came to social media fame through her social justice posters that she created in her high school Graphic Arts Class. The image that remained in the center was bold and youthful, reminiscent of old Marvel superhero comics. The tagline: Save Art Programming, Save the World.

 

The crowd was on their feet, clapping and calling out their praise. The Master of Ceremony, the ultra professional, capitalized on the moment, directing people’s attention to the silent auction items and the other opportunities to donate to a good cause.

 

Clint released a tight breath. “That probably turned out better than it should have.”

 

Phil smiled wryly, “I absolutely have you to thank for that. I,” Phil paused uncharacteristically. “I’m glad you were here to catch it.”

 

Clint shook his head as he packed up, “It was probably an honest mistake, those frames are heavy sons of a bitches.” Though even as he said it, he knew that to be false. Phil would _never_ make such a grave oversight.

 

“I’m afraid it may have been a little less than an honest mistake. But I’ll get to the bottom of it.” Clint watched as Phil’s face twisted in disgust.

 

“Rumlow?”

 

Phil’s eyebrows raised.

 

Clint rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly very embarrassed. He shouldn’t out himself, but he felt wrong and grimy keeping it in. “I overheard. In the back hallways. I didn’t mean to intrude or anything, I was just kinda…” Clint waved at the air. “It doesn’t matter, I’m sorry I eavesdropped.”

 

Clint could usually take Phil’s calculating eyes without fidgeting, but this time was different. Clint was genuinely remorseful and it suddenly occurred to him that Phil might decide Clint wasn’t a trustworthy contractor to keep on his short list.

 

“You were just kind of, what?”

 

Clint dropped his shoulders, “I was just kinda jealous of Rumlow with the whole dating you thing and once I heard where the conversation was going, I dunno, I...” Clint laughed nervously “I’m stupid is all. Ignore everything coming out of my mouth right now, please.”

 

Phil stepped closer to him. His eyes were assessing, but not calculating.

 

“You have nothing to be jealous of.” He said finally. His voice was low but confident.

 

“What?”

 

“Of Rumlow. You have nothing to be jealous of.”

 

Clint blinked at Phil hopelessly, his hand clenched around the strap of his bow case.

 

Phil’s mouth quirked almost… playfully, “This event won’t be wrapped up until well after 1:00am, so that rules out tonight. And I know you mentioned you and Natasha have a quick job tomorrow night. So that leaves lunch tomorrow or dinner in two nights.”

 

“Are you?” Clint pressed his lips together, “Are you asking me out?”

 

“Yes.” Phil tilted his head a nudge. “Are you saying yes?”

 

“Fuck yeah! But can I do c. all of the above? Because I want to do lunch and dinner.” Clint could feel his face split around his goofy grin.

 

Phil stepped even closer, their noses only inches apart. “I’ll pick you up at 12:15 for lunch and we’ll decide about dinner while we eat.”

 

“Yeah, yeah that works.” Clint’s mouth parted on its own accord, all lusty and wanting. Couldn’t they just…

 

“Is your address the same as your billing information?”

 

Clint wanted to nod his head, but was too distracted by the cackling tension between them…because, well Phil, the constant planner. “Yeah, same one.”

 

“Excellent. I’ll see you then.”

 

Phil stepped away, breaking Clint’s spell

 

-O-

 

At lunch the following day, Phil shared more about Rumlow and his double contract with SHIELD’s competing event planning firm, HYDRA.   Clint listened with poorly concealed anger. Phil was a good man, he took care of his vendors and contractors, he was thoughtful and committed to every job he had a hand in managing. It didn’t sit well with Clint that someone could actively seek to sabotage him. It wasn’t right.

Their conversation quickly drifted to other topics. They exchanged war stories and fond memories and Clint explained more fully about the unique particulars that made his and Nat’s relationship so special.

 

“For the first year I contracted you, I honestly thought you and Natasha were a couple. But then I noticed things here and there and you said once that she had a hot date after a job.” Phil rubbed the back of his neck and ducked his head. “It made me hope, in a way I hadn’t let myself before.”

 

Clint in turn told him how he had developed a crush just about the first time he heard Phil give an order over the coms, wearing one of his suits. He tried not to pursue him though, even as the crush deepened because a. Phil was sometimes his boss and Clint didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable and b. he was pretty sure that Phil had much fancier and well-connected people barking up his tree.

 

Phil squinted a bit at Clint for a few moments and then very dryly asked, “you have looked in the mirror haven’t you?”

 

Clint blushed and rubbed the back of his head. He could only manage an abortive hand wave.

 

Phil continued on, deeming the topic very important. “You’re looks alone wouldn’t have tempted me though, for the first reason you mentioned. I started truly wanting you after that first Comic-Con job, when you figured out in a matter of minutes how to set up the tables to accommodate the backup state. Phil went on to make Clint bright red by accounting a number of instances that he found Clint’s strategy, common sense, and event managing instincts positively ingenious.

 

“Then of course, you have to have dazzling archery performances that make me jealous of every single person in the room because they get to look at you and not hide their wonder.”

 

“Phil please.” Clint had said. It was too much. His heart was flying away without him.

 

Suffice to say, Clint was loopy the rest of the day and into the evening—high on cloud 9. Even Natasha’s merciless teasing couldn’t touch his glowing reverie. It lasted through dinner, and into Clint stepping onto the sidewalk next to Phil while the valet brought Phil’s car around.

 

Clint was laughing at the horror story Phil recounted about one of his worse moments as an Operations Manager. Mostly Clint was stoked to finally understand why flooding and containment of hazardous waste were contingency plans in Phil’s contractor orientation packet.

 

Clint laughed open and maybe a little too loud and then sighed as his laughter trailed off into bemused little tilts of noise.

 

“I like the way you laugh.” Phil’s lowered voice danced along Clint’s skin, making his dick twitch in interest.

 

Clint smiled, “I like when you talk business. Hearing you dish out orders over the cmms.” Clint mocked a shiver. “Its so hot.”

 

Phil chuckled and reached a rough hand to cup the side of Clint’s jaw. His eyes were so playful. He kissed Clint’s cheek first, “Roll call. Everyone in position?” He nudged Clint’s nose with his own. “I need eyes on the guest of honor.” He moved his mouth centimeters from Clint’s, savoring the air between them.

 

Hasty fucker that he was, Clint closed the distance in a rush, smashing their mouths together. One of them moaned and suddenly there was sweet wonderful tongue. Clint pressed up against Phil, eagerly taking his taste of the man. It felt so good. God, Clint wanted to kiss Phillip Coulson forever.

 

When the valet not so subtly cleared his throat, they pulled apart. Ducking his head, Clint slid into the passenger seat and tried to avoid the valet’s amused expression. Out of the corner of his eye, he did see the man’s eyebrows raise and his voice sputter, Clint’s keen eyesight confirmed that Phil was a good tipper.

 

As Phil turned the engine, Clint said, “Go time.” An unapologetic reference to Phil’s token phrase during events.

 

Phil laughed softly, “Oh you’re going to be a handful.”

 

Clint tipped his head against the headrest and turned to look as his sometimes boss but hopefully soon to be lover—“I can be, boss.”

 

Phil glanced over. He didn’t seem concerned in the slightest. “You’re worth it.”

 

-O- 

 

Clint frowned at the large wall calendar with ill-concealed annoyance—like the calendar itself had personally offended him. It was event season and he hadn’t had sex with his boyfriend in 6 days.

 

Last night, Clint had hoped that they might catch some time together. He slept over Phil’s place, fully intending to get frisky when his boyfriend came back in one of those yummy suits. But, Clint was asleep before Phil returned and now they both were up at 5:00am—off to two separate jobs.

 

“I know. This Monday, after the Stark event, I promise we’ll have some actual time together.” Phil nosed the side of Clint’s neck and handed him a much needed cup of coffee.

 

“It’s the season. I guess I just didn’t realize how crazy it could be trying to figure out our two schedules.” Clint graciously sipped his coffee, humming in pleasure. “How late do you think set up will go tonight?”

 

Phil rubbed Clint’s shoulder, “I’ll be lucky if I get out of there are 10:00.”

 

“Want to meet here tonight? Take it easy, fall asleep to a crappy movie?”

 

Phil kissed him, a hungry longing that had no place at 5 in the morning. “I’d like that very much.”

 

They both parted. Clint trudged through his and Nat’s event, glad that Nat was the designer, getting the brunt of the client’s freak out over the not-quite-right seating snafu. Really, though, it would be nice if divorced husbands didn’t bring their 20 year-younger girlfriends to their daughter’s graduation party.

 

By the time Clint packed up the van at 8:00pm, the graduation party having ended at 6:00pm so the young graduate could truly celebrate, he was very ready to see his boyfriend and crack a cold beer.

 

Clint pulled out his phone and had a waiting message from Natasha. “Even though you’re to go cuddle with your boyfriend, don’t forget to drop off the vendor check to Kate.”

 

Clint groaned and responded, “Yeah I got it.”

 

“Don’t be a brat.”

 

Clint shook his head. As he was texting when his screen prompted that he had another text come in. It started with Phil apologizing. Clint quickly shot off a text to Nat so he could read the full thing.

 

Clint sighed, suddenly much less motivated to hurry to Phil’s and kickback with a beer. Phil didn’t think he would get out until midnight but would text an update in a few hours.

 

Disappointment made him shove his phone in his pocket without replying. Instead, Clint completed the necessary errands. He unpacked the van, put the supplies away pretty much according to Natasha’s crazy neat Russian system, and dropped off the vendor check. He picked up Phil’s favorite beer anyway, and headed to his place.

 

A few minutes after getting in, putting the beer in the fridge and grabbing the take-out menus, Clint heard the front door unlock. He tensed, knowing Phil said he would be back much later. But Phil’s comforting steps rounded the corner.

 

Clint gasped at the sight of his boyfriend “Phil!”

 

For one, he had two hands full of brown take-out that smelled like Clint’s favorite Thai restaurant. But more importantly, the man looked _wrecked_. It was subtle, his suit and all that were in perfect presentation, but something about the set of his mouth, the worry in his eyes, had Clint’s anxiety rising.

 

“I brought your favorite.” Phil looked Clint over nervously and Clint knew something was off.

 

“Phil, is everything okay?”

 

Phil pulled his eyebrows, “You tell me.” He cringed at his own words and then immediately amended, “No, I’m sorry that sounded defensive. I know something’s wrong, I’m hoping we can talk about it.”

 

Clint shook his head. He felt like he walked into a conversation that had already been happening for an hour. “Phil, what’s going on? You said you were going to be on site until midnight.”

 

Phil’s shoulders sagged. He put the bags on the kitchen island and stepped to Clint. “I was, but you seemed upset and I—“

 

“When did I seem upset?”

 

“You’re text…” Phil picked up, finally, on the fact that Clint was utterly lost.

 

“Because I didn’t text you back? You think, I’m angry?”

 

It was Phil’s turn to look perplexed, “You did text me back.”

 

Clint cocked his head and reached into his back pocket for his phone. He pulled up Phil’s thread and his heart sunk. Instead of texting Nat “ _whatever_ ” he had sent it to Phil. After Phil told him he would miss their 10:00pm meet up time, it looked like Clint had responded with a flippant and very meaningful one word reply.

 

“Oh fuck, Phil, no. That was for Nat, shit I’m sorry.”

 

Phil looked at him suspiciously for a few moments, putting the pieces together. “You’re not mad?”

 

“No, not at all. Disappointed? Horny? Yes. But I wouldn’t be passive aggressive like that, especially not over your job.”

 

Phil sighed and chuckled a little to himself. “Fuck, I’m an idiot. I just kept thinking that you were mad and there was nothing I could do about it because you would have had every right to be.”

 

“No, Phil, its our line of work, this stuff happens.” Clint wrapped his arms around Phil’s neck and kissed him deeply for several long moments. A greeting and an apology all the same. When he pulled back, Phil looked more at ease. “Now can you please tell me how you managed to get out of there at…” Clint arched his neck to look at the stove clock, “9:39pm?”

 

Phil smiled and nosed along Clint’s throat, surely smelling the day’s sweat there. “Melinda almost had a heart attack when I started delegating to her. But she likes it too. She’s fully capable, I don’t know why I have such a problem letting her do her job.”

 

Clint laughed. “Because, you’re the most well-meaning, endearing, micromanager that I have ever known. I didn’t know it was physically possible for you to delegate.”

 

Phil bit into Clint’s skin playfully. “Apparently I can. For you.”

 

Clint’s smile widened. They kissed again, letting it turn dirty and desperate. Clint was panting into Phil’s mouth by the end of it and the seam of his black jeans started digging into his cock.

 

“Does this mean we actually have time to…?”

 

“Yes, God yes.” Phil hungrily pawed at Clint’s shirt. They both started stripping each other and themselves of clothing while stumbling toward the bedroom.

 

When Clint’s back hit the bedding he was full nude and Phil was the same with the exception of his dress socks. Somehow, Clint found even that sexy, Phil so desperate to fuck him that he left his dress socks on.

 

“How do you want it baby?” Phil rubbed their cocks together and linked their hands.

 

“I need you inside me, ‘s been way too long.” Clint whimpered and spread his legs. He could quite honestly say that their 6 day stretch was the longest he had ever gone without bottoming. He hadn’t even had time to fuck himself with a dildo. Last night he had cleaned himself and put in a butt plug for a couple of hours, but it was a poor substitute for the delicious stretch of Phil’s cock.

 

“Yeah, let me take care of you baby. Make you feel good.”

 

“nnn.” Clint groaned as Phil licked and suckled his way down Clint’s chest, over his nipples. Clint’s abs rippled at the scrape of Phil’s teeth. “Don’t touch my cock, I’m close already.”

 

Phil smiled into Clint’s skin. He left him for just a few moments to grab the lube and came back with the determined efficiency that Clint swooned over.

 

“That’s it, loosen up for me baby.” Phil stretched him firmly, which kept Clint from getting too frustrated. Some nights Phil would be agonizingly gentle and slow so that Clint was screaming even before Phil got his cock in him.

 

When Phil was three fingers in, making sure Clint’s passage was properly lubricated, he started grazing Clint’s prostate.

 

“Holy fuck, Phil!” Clint gasped. Phil knew his prostate was sensitive in general, off of sex for this long and it was a raw nerve of pleasure.

 

Phil chuckled, a bit breathless and turned on. He wiped his hand on the bedspread and grabbed the back of Clint’s thighs. He eased Clint’s legs over his shoulders, and leaned forward, folding Clint in half. Clint groaned and fisted the bedsheets. He _loved_ getting fucked this way—open to Phil and not being able to control a thing. The way the position enabled Phil to fill him so deeply, was another attraction.

 

Phil slid inside Clint’s hole, a constant stretch until pelvis met pelvis.

 

“Let’s see how many we can get.”

 

Clint whined his dissent. They had played with multiple prostate orgasms many times. As long as Clint didn’t ejaculate he could keep having them, but the constant build and release seemed so daunting after this long stretch.

 

Phil ignored him, starting right in with a slightly rough pounding that nailed Clint’s prostate. Clint’s words morphed in and out of moans and it didn’t take long at all for the hard fucking to make him orgasm.

 

“You really were missing me baby.” Phil commented with such sweet awe that Clint professed his love and attraction for the man in a way only the post-orgasm mind could manage.

 

Phil didn’t tire. The next orgasm he gentled, grazing Clint’s prostate until he came with a shuddering of his body and a whimpering sigh. The third, however was rough again—Phil unable to maintain the delicate finesse of before.

 

As Clint shook through the aftershocks of his third prostate orgasm, he clutched Phil’s shoulders in a desperate plea. “No more, Phil _please_.”

 

Phil settled forward and let his mouth devour Clint’s. His breathing was harsh and it tilted his voice to something husky and dark. “One more.” He said firmly

 

Clint groaned, his body at once frustrated (as his hard cock and balls ached with need) and completely ragged.

 

Phil slowed his thrusts to long hard ones that caused Clint to have to brace himself against the headboard. The coring bowled Clint over and it wasn’t long before he tumbled into his fourth prostate orgasm with his neck arched and his hole spasming uncontrollably.

 

After a deep sigh from both of them, Phil drew back on his heels. He kept his cock inside Clint’s well fucked hole, but let Clint stretch out his legs on either side of him. Again, Clint was struck my Phil’s stamina and discipline. They were very unlike each other in this way. Clint preferred instant, rough, and repeated gratification. Phil, however, enjoyed starving himself, building the tension to one great release.

 

“How we doing baby?” Phil’s voice was thick with unfulfilled need, and yet he managed to sound so caring at the same time.

 

“’m good. How do you want it?” Clint felt quite ready to ejaculate and even more ready to feel Phil come inside him. He didn’t much care about the particulars—that was Phil’s department because he typically had a strong preference.

 

“I thought I wanted to finish this with you on your knees, but I changed my mind.” Phil shifted and rubbed his hands up and down Clint’s thighs. After a short pause, he said, “Little discomfort.” And slid his cock out ever so gently.

 

Clint hissed. Thankfully his body was still so turned on that he didn’t quite feel the soreness that would surely be something fierce tomorrow.

 

Phil climbed up toward the pillows and after a little huffing and whining on Clint’s part positioned his back to the headboard. Clint side-eyed the whole affair and wondered if he had it in him to ride Phil in his current state.

 

After minimal prompting, Clint was inspired to straddle Phil by his insistent cock. His trembling thighs protested only at the very beginning as he held himself up while Phil reapplied lubricant and circled the head of his cock around the rim of Clint’s ass. Clint clutched at Phil’s shoulders and shuddered the whole way down, sinking slowly to both feel the sensation and to be gentle with his channel and prostate.

 

“Fuck baby, you’re so hot.”

 

Phil was liberal with his praise and deliciously aggressive with his squeezing of Clint’s asscheeks as he worked himself up and down Phil’s shaft.

 

After a few shared sentiments of love, Clint felt the grip of Phil’s hands on his hips switch to something needier and he began pulling Clint down with added force.

 

From one moment to the next, Phil had squirted some lube on his hand and was pumping Clint’s cock firmly, thumbing over the head every few upward strokes.

 

“Fuck, Phil, so fucking close!” Clint cried, unable to handle the overload of sensation. Phil’s thick cock filling him up just right and his cock being perfectly jacked. He lurched forward when he came, nestling his head in the crock of Phil’s neck and shaking with each spurt. He only barely registered Phil’s deep groan and after a few upward pumps of his hips, Clint felt Phil’s body sag in release.

 

Phil milked Clint through his final orgasm. Phil’s shaft was excellent for that sort of thing because it took some time for it to soften and Phil liked to thrust away lazily until he was quite satisfied. This created a perfect counterpoint, in Clint’s opinion, to Clint’s need to come down gradually from his orgasm. Clint whined and whimpered but not so secretly liked that Phil’s cock was still quite hard enough for Clint to clamp onto when an aftershock flashed through him.

 

At some point though it was time for both of them, and Phil was as attending as ever with Clint. He eased him off slowly and made sure to make delicate but effective work of cleaning them both up. Phil had to, as ceremony, take time to admire Clint’s hole.

 

“Its all open and red for me baby, its gorgeous.”

 

Clint smiled at Phil dopily, just as turned on by Phil’s infatuation with the evidence of how well fucked Clint was. Phil had told him once, in the beginning, that it was a terribly macho sentiment that fueled it. Phil had explained that he liked knowing he had done that to Clint, made him gaping, wet, and tender.

 

When they were both feeling up to it, much later in the night, they attended to the food that had been left to cool. They both decided to break the rule of no food in the room, if only for Clint’s benefit because he was really feeling the effects of getting pounded so absolutely after so much time apart.

 

“I have to say,” Clint said as they both got into their sleeping clothes, “that I’m not happy I stressed you out with my text malfunction shit, but I am happy at the results.” He smiled sheepishly.

 

Phil’s eyes crinkled and he kissed Clint softly on the lips. “I love you.” He said simply

 

“I love you too.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback always welcome! And, do forgive my nod to Jane Austen "It taught me to hope..." I was re-reading pride and prejudice last weekend :)


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